Returning to Eden
by StoryGirl02
Summary: Hermione was his Eden. And he was going to do everything he could to make sure he would remain here, in her arms, forever.
1. prologue

**Returning to Eden**

_-when you love someone but it goes to waste_ -

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**prologue**

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His breathing was harsh, and drops of sweat coursed down his face as he walked, his father's hand resting severely on his shoulder. Small flickering lights passed him, lighting up the faces of the people they passed, groups cackling together.

He closed his eyes against the onslaught, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Strands of blond hair fell over his eyes, and he made no movement to shake them out. It didn't matter, anyway. No matter what he did, he wasn't jus going to be Draco Malfoy after this day.

He was going to be Draco Malfoy, recently burned with the Dark Mark.

He stifled at sob at this, daring to glance up as his father, his face like stone, eyes staring straight ahead. Ever he had been five, he had longed to have a _'tattoo'_- as Lucius had put it- that symbol he was part of something, something greater than life itself. Now, he finally realized the repercussions of it. If he got the Dark Mark, he was forever bound to Voldemort, and there was no escaping that. He had heard stories of a man who had tried, but he had failed, losing his life in the process.

Draco didn't want to end up like that.

Still, as they approached the dimly-lit chamber, he felt the urge to run.

But he couldn't. With his father's hand on his shoulder, and the sleeves of his robes pulled up to expose the pale skin of his forearms, he met Voldemort's eyes.

A wand tip was placed on his skin, and he burned, screaming with pain.

Panting, crouched over the cold tiles, he closed his eyes against the pain.

_Hermione__…_

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She looked up from her books, eyes wide. Hurriedly, she shoved the textbook into her bag, stuffing quills in there as well. Her legs pumped as fast as they could to escape the stifling heat of the library, her hair flying wildly after her.

Gods, had he? She had been awoken from her day-dreaming by the sound of a scream, and had looked around. No-one else had seemed to notice, though, and Madam Pince was still flipping through her newspaper, grey hair pulled severely into a bun at the base of her neck.

Had she just imagined it? She shook her head, and returned to her work, biting her lip as she scrawled notes from the textbook. Then there had been another scream, and her eyes had snapped up. Nothing, again. Where was this coming from?

She heard harsh breathing, and the sound of a body falling against tiles, before the hairs on the back of neck raised up. Her heart leaped up in her throat.

"Hermione," the voice whispered, and her heart stopped.

He had received the Dark Mark. There was no going back from that, she realized, stifling a sob. No matter how much she loved him, he would now and always be a Deatheater, and there was nothing she could do to change that. He was a Deatheater, and the Dark Mark was now tarnishing the skin of his left forearm. At one touch, he could summon Voldemort, and that put her in risk.

A tear slipped out her eye, as she slammed the textbook shut. She couldn't love him, not with the mark on his skin.

In the course of one minute, his mind had made a stupid, irrational decision, and he had ripped them apart.

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He was pulled up from the floor with a tug, his head forced up, grey eyes meeting the harsh red of Voldemort's for the second time, and what he knew wouldn't be the last. The Mark burned on his arm, blood coursing onto the floor, in slow drops. Voldemort leant forward, and slowly, pressed his thumb to the Mark. A scream escaped his throat. Voldemort cackled, before gesturing towards his father, who nodded, helping Draco stand. He limped out of the room, still bleeding, the mark burning.

Voldemort resumed court, dozens of Deatheaters swarming to take Draco's place. His own father, he was ashamed to admit, bent low over Voldemort, kissing the end of his muddy robes.

Outside, panting, his mind swam with hundreds of thoughts, eyes closed against the burning pain. Gods, why? Why hadn't he run, run from the pain, run from Voldemort? Was his life going to be just like his father's, constantly under supervision, always having to serve Voldmort?

One thing was for certain, though. Now, with the Mark burning brightly on his arm, a symbol of what he now was, Hermione would never love him again.

He didn't stifle his sobs this time. The pain coursed through him, and his heart shattered into pieces. Slumping to the floor, tears coursed down his cheeks, wetting his robes.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

And, back at Hogwarts, Hermione sobbed.

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**This is to be read before Returning to Eden, and as readers requested more insight to why he had done it, I wrote this. Hope you all enjoy it!**


	2. returning to eden

**R****eturning to Eden**

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_"This Garden of Eden where mist engulfs the mind  
Where gods dwell to ease their sorrowed souls  
Paradise in my hand unifies all delight  
Together for eternity on borrowed time,"_ **- Orphanage.**

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Hands clasped behind her back, she stared out the window, hair tied up in a bun, curly strands tickling the back of her neck, swinging back and forth; tossed by the wind. The clock ticked behind her, filling the silent room with loud sound, and she bit her lower lip, hands fumbling inside her pockets.

_How could he have left her? _

Wasn't she good enough for him? Pretty enough? She stifled a sob, biting it down, forcing it back down her throat. Shaking her head, she sat down on the bed, curling her knees up to her chest, tucking her head into her neck, hot tears spilling onto her bare skin.

It wasn't fair. She knew that, and she had finally realized that he hadn't felt the same way when he had pulled up his sleeve, boldly, and almost proudly displayed the tarnish that blemished his pale skin; the mark he had willingly received. Gods, how could he have done this to her?

If they had gone their own ways, and then he had received the mark, then fine, she couldn't have done anything about it. But- while they had been still together? No, that wasn't justified. It had almost like he had done it just to distance himself from her, to prove to her that he wasn't worthy of her love.

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of a slamming door. Coughing softly, she straightened down her robes, and hastily dried the wet trail of tears with the back of her hand, her mind whirling with crazy, never though-of thoughts.

Had he? Had he done it for her?

There was a knock on her door, and she cleared her raspy throat, pacing back and forth in front of the still-closed wood, the only thing separating her from him.

Another knock and she still didn't move to answer it. Another, and then a slight groan. She didn't move, eyes unblinking, as she stared at the floor, counting the frayed threads. One, two, three. Knock.

Another groan, louder.

Another knock, angry. "Open up!"

She didn't move. Four, five, six. "Please, Hermione."

Her foot twitched towards the door, but she pulled it back into place, biting her lip so hard it started to bleed, rich, red blood spilling into her mouth as she stifled sobs. "Hermione? Are you there? If you are, please open up. I'm sorry."

She shook her head defiantly, angry, hair escaping from the bun, and spilling down her back in a bushy, frizzy mass of brown hair. Why had he liked her anyway? There was nothing special about her. Her feet took her to the mirror, eyes closing at the image in front of her. Gods, why?

Her hair was a horrible shade of brown, and nothing could be done about the way it seemed to change with the weather, frizzing in the rain, and in the sun. Her eyes were a dull shade of brown, and nothing about them would capture anyone, make them stop in their tracks; make them want to know her, to love her.

And, as for her body?

Well, "frumpy" seemed to sum it up to the full extent.

She fell to the floor, legs curling underneath her to cushion her sudden floor. Sobbing freely now, tears coursing their way down her cheeks, landing with splashes on the carpet, creating wet patches; she listened for any signs of movement outside the door.

_Anything……_

None. She shook her head, placing it in her hands, wiping her tears before another hot batch coursed through, wetting her already-soaked cheeks.

There were no more knocks, and if it wasn't for the harsh breathing, she would have been certain he had left. She stared tugging out the fraying strands of red carpet, pulling them and piling them beside her, creating a small mass in a matter of moments.

Draco sighed, taking a seat on the floor outside her door. She snapped her head up, before shaking it and returning to her pulling, random strands of carpet littering around her knees, tickling the bare skin.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, so softly she almost didn't hear.

She scoffed severely, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, sniffling loudly. "How can you be?" she muttered softly, whispering against the ruthless wind.

"I really am," he told her, sighing piercingly. He knocked on the door once again. She didn't budge. "Can I please come in?" he asked, standing up and resting his body on the door.

Her legs jerked towards the door, before she pulled them back, curling them on the carpet, suddenly decisive. If he hadn't meant it, he wouldn't have done it, right? So why had he? Why had he, in a matter of moments, shattered everything that had existed between them?

Did she mean so little?

He knocked again, sighing in weariness, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Hair flopped over his eyes, shading them from the world, as he sat down once more, resting his back against the door, the gold, shining doorknob just above his head.

"I love you," he whispered, closing his grey eyes, shutting off the world that had ruined him, the world that had kicked him out, forcing his to run back to safety, back to his father.

Her head snapped up suddenly at those words, brown eyes wide.

Swiftly, teeth chattering together, she flung the door open, making Draco fall back, his head resting on the carpet. "Hello," he said, standing up slowly, brushing the stray red strands of carpet from where they had stuck to his pants.

She smiled bashfully, tucking wild strands of hair behind her ears.

In a matter of moments, he had crushed her to his him, head resting in her mass of hair. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed out, tears flowing down his face. He bent his nose to sniff at her hair. _Home._

This was where he belonged. This was where he would find happiness. With_ Hermione._ Not Voldemort, nor his father. He wouldn't find happiness touching the Mark that tainted his skin, wouldn't find it serving the Dark Lord.

Hermione was his Eden.

And he was going to do everything he could to make sure he would remain here, in her arms, forever.

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**Review?**


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